


Pallbearers

by aliform



Category: Death Note
Genre: M/M, One Shot, Wammy House, Wammy's Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-07
Updated: 2014-12-07
Packaged: 2018-02-28 11:51:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2731397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliform/pseuds/aliform
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fates spliced. L's death and the prequel to two others. As Plath wrote, "perfection is terrible, it cannot have children."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pallbearers

There are birds singing in the trees outside their window.  

Matt knew he should close his eyes to prevent it; every image would be stained with the grief that had settled thick enough to stifle breath and trees were much, much too everywhere to be a constant reminder of death. 

But he still looked out the window and watched the sunlight lapping weakly through the branches because in the end trees were a less ignoble reminder than the patterns of his comforter or the red cord taped to the wall or the boy puddled in a shaking heap at the foot of Matt's bed. 

"Mello," he whispered. Perhaps he shouldn't, not yet. 

Matt closed his eyes to fend off the trees, the seconds crawling past, _being_ , his senses only narrowed to every jerk of the bed as Mello sobbed. 

Occasionally a mediocre thought would flit past and he'd be ashamed even as he fought down the desire to let this consume him. 

They'd known as soon as the summons had come, of course. Mello had been all obvious rampant questions and instant revenge while the automaton that was Near could only snap puzzle pieces together. Matt had already half-phrased Mello's reaction to that and would never dare argue that those familiar shapes, edges memorized by feel alone, were most likely all that was keeping Near sane. The boy had only managed two words and a fragmented mantra the entire exchange. 

A jerk as Mello choked and his foot kicked out and struck Matt's calf. Yes, Mello was too selfish to think that someone else's grief might surpass his own.

"Mello." Matt's face was tight from dried tears. "Mello, you're going to hyperventilate."

There was no reply, and Matt took his last escape and dozed.

The gentle knock at the door woke him. Sometime between falling asleep and the psychologist making a round Matt had grown another appendage that was somehow meshed along his side and hip, tangled through his legs and making him a thousand pounds heavier than—oh. 

"Make it shut up," Mello slurred into his shoulder. 

Matt said nothing. The footsteps shuffled on. 

The trees were swallowed in gloom and one of his legs had gone entirely numb when he woke again with a fuzzy headache seeping any sort of logic from his thoughts. Matt wiggled the numb leg gently before wincing at the onset of prickles. 

Half the room was bathed in the faint glow of Matt's laptop and he eased gently towards the yellow head leaning into Matt’s arm as it lolled off the side of the bed (yes, Mello would be soaking in as much as he could before he left, and Matt was tempted to drag his fingers through the strands because yes, he was too) and peered blearily at the screen.    

"Whuzzat?" Matt tried to to level his finger with the second message in Roger's choked inbox but he was still too heavy with sleep to do more then let his wrist fall on Mello's shoulder, finger half curled and useless. 

"L's will. It won't let me open it."

They both stared at the last surviving remnant they could visibly trace of L's steps. 

Matt broke the solemnity with a groan, partially because his leg was still waking up. "Lookee, no touchee, can't. Roger won't." 

Mello snapped the laptop shot and thrust them into darkness. "Doesn't matter."

"Cause we're leaving."

Then Matt was pinned to his bed by a hand round his throat, the shape of Mello a warmer black that perhaps logic and memory alone picked out. 

"I'm leaving. You're not coming."

And he'd already forgiven him. He wouldn't admit it, not with Mello's voice that adamant and careless all at once in a whisper that kept repeating in an endless loop as Matt picked apart the remains of his vocabulary to choose something that would cut him as deeply, but all that would surface was _L's dead_ , or _Near won_. 

"'K."

The cool offering dovetailed too snug into Mello's schemes to be challenged, but Matt felt him flinch.

"You can't come," he reiterated in monotone.

" _Got_ it."

Mello released him before clambering over Matt's bed to his own. He flicked on the light and began drudging through the filthy chaos beneath his bed. 

Mello held up a fistful of broken cookies and stolen puzzle pieces. Oh, there was that too, but Matt wouldn't even let the thought fully form; it flickered into life and was extinguished in almost the same moment. 

A tense jerk of Mello's shoulders and he tripped on a stack of books. He was re-stuffing a black shapeless thing with enough miscellanea that Matt was trying to remember just how good Mello's outside connections were if he was about to take on Kira with a box of Batman band-aids and some ancient beef jerky.

"Where you going?" 

"I don't know." Mello glared above a fan of credit cards. 

"Yakuza?"

The glare drifted back down. 

"I'm gonna miss you," Matt offered. 

That snapped something and finally, finally, Matt was gifted with retaliation. A discarded hard drive was hurled at his eiderdown-hidden body; the thing cracked against his shin. 

Matt muttered something Mello pretended not to catch into his pillow before he ignored this broken reality and closed his eyes.

Mello watched his best friend sleep while the trees dripped leaves and rain. 

**Author's Note:**

> This was actually meant to be the beginning of Sleep and his Half-brother Death but it wasn't as concise as what I wanted. It's a little too stunted to be a true set piece but I'm purging and don't care.


End file.
